


The Intent To Be Lost

by voleuse



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-06
Updated: 2005-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Then practice losing farther, losing faster</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Intent To Be Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Chosen, and after the War. Title and summary adapted from Elizabeth Bishop's _One Art_.

Faith doesn't think fetching a new slayer in Bermuda counts as a vacation, but it's the closest she's gotten to one in a year and a half.

Back before Willow had done the spell, Faith had thought having a legion of newly-called Chosen Ones would make her life easier. With the Council being built from the ground up, however, Faith's been tapped as one of the few qualified to train a slayer solo.

On days when she lets herself get philosophical, Faith thinks it's kind of ironic.

The last two slayers they identified had been located in Bermuda and the Gobi Desert. After an epic battle of rock-paper-scissors with Kennedy, Faith won Bermuda.

Giles did all the prep work, calling the family beforehand and authenticating Faith's pseudo-credentials. Even then, it took her two days of serious discussion--not her strong point--before Faith got the new girl, Tessa, to agree to go on patrol.

It took five days before she convinced Tessa's parents.

Now, it's three in the afternoon, and Faith's made herself scarce so that Tessa can spend quality time with her increasingly-freaked family.

In her rush to give the family space, Faith managed to skip lunch. She's hungry enough to eat anything, but she's craving curry in particular. She blames it on her frequent trips to England, to towns with nowhere to drink but the corner pubs, and nothing to do but wait until the monsters creep out. She's learned to appreciate the food, even if she's still partial to piss-poor American beer.

She makes her way into town, wanders down the sidewalks until she spots a likely pub. The windows are polished, but the brick is dark, and the music wafting out is just as intriguing as the smell of food.

Faith steps inside, catches the attention of a server immediately. She confers with him for a second, orders curry vindaloo and a beer, and then turns to survey the room. There are plenty of empty tables at this hour, but it's an occupied one in the back that catches her attention.

The table's occupant would be easy to overlook, bent over a pint, and worn-looking in a way that would turn most eyes elsewhere. He's thin, almost gaunt, and his hair lies lank against his forehead in the heat. Not at all her type, but Faith finds herself drawn to him anyway.

Something about him strikes her as familiar. Not that she's ever met him, but that she's met someone like him. Or been someone like him, she's not sure, can't name what tickles the back of her mind. She watches his fingers curve around the base of his glass, and she decides, what the hell? Walks back, and she slides into his booth as soon as he looks up to see her standing there.

"You wear tweed a lot?" she asks. It's code, kind of, and the first explanation she can think of for his sort-of familiarity.

He raises an eyebrow. "Only when I'm in the classroom," he replies.

Not the answer she expected, but it could explain the Watchery vibe. "You're a teacher?" She diverts her attention for a moment, gestures to the server carrying her food.

"I was," he says with amusement, eyeing her meal as it slides across the table's planks.

Faith gestures to her plate. "Want some?" When he shakes his head, she tucks into her meal, letting the burden of conversation fall to him.

For the most part, he doesn't take advantage of the opportunity. Instead, she feels him watching her as she bows her head to her food, catches him looking away when she raises her eyes. She's used to staring, but not to whatever this is.

He asks her few questions, and answers even fewer.

She thinks it's kind of educational. She's learned that, once in a while, absence of information is much more telling.

Also telling is the way he shifts in his seat when her foot brushes, experimentally, against his ankle. _That_ look she knows, as well as what to do in its aftermath.

His gaze dips down her neck, lower, and she smiles, leans forward on her elbows. "I kind of have plans after sunset," she begins.

The corner of his mouth quirks. "As do I."

"You got a place nearby?" she asks. His eyes widen, but she props her elbows on the table, giving him what must be a spectacular view.

He nods slowly, and his fingers twitch against his empty glass.

*

 

They settle their tabs, separately, and then Faith follows through a maze of alleys, to a building that might be a boarding house, or a deceptively well-kept condemned building.

"Hey," she says, even as his key slides into a decrepit-looking lock. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Remus." A smile barely tugs the corner of his mouth. "Yours?"

"Faith." She nods, a small parody of courtesy.

He returns the gesture, swings open the door with a slight bow, and lets her enter before him. She pauses, just past the threshold, and he sweeps past her after shutting the door. There's a window at the opposite end of the room, and he twitches at the drapes, even though they're already mostly closed.

Faith looks around the room. It's nearly bare, with worn but clean carpet, and a fraying sofa in the corner. Another door leads into what must be a bedroom and, she presumes, an adjoining bathroom.

The light filters orange through his curtains, and she watches as he undoes the buttons of his collar. His index finger circles each button first, almost caressing, before he slips each one out of place.

Faith leans her back against the door and undoes the buttons of her fly, and he laughs. Steps forward, pushes her jeans over her hips, just far enough to allow space for his hand's insinuation.

His hands are no less attentive here, and she presses against his touch immediately, hisses quietly as he slips a finger, then two, inside of her.

When she looks at him, he would seem almost casual, if she couldn't follow the line of his arm down to between her legs, feel the crook of his knuckles against her. Her breath is ragged, harsh. She wants him to fuck her, _now_, and she tells him as much.

She rolls her hips against him, to emphasize her point, and he withdraws. Watches her as she heels out of her shoes, slips her hands under tank top and unclasps her bra. He kneels and drags her jeans off her legs. She leers down at him as he unfastens his own pants, rests the fingers of his right hand lightly against the back of her knee.

Faith licks her lip as he curls his hand around his cock, _strokes_. Impatient, she yanks her tank top over her head, but before she can shrug her bra off her shoulders, he's surging up, catching her hips in his hands, pinning her to the wall, and he's stronger than she expected, stronger than he should be.

She grabs his shoulders to steady herself, halting him before he enters her. She almost doesn't care, but she has to ask anyway.

"You're not a vampire, are you?"

He looks her in the eye, smiles. "Not a vampire, no."

"Good," she says, and arches, presses her shoulders against the door, sinks onto his cock with a long, inelegant groan. Forces her eyes to stay open, so she can see his face as he composes himself, begins to thrust.

And _god_ does it feel good, the twist and plunge of him inside her, the way the linen of his shirt rubs against her breasts, even the faint pinch of her bra straps around her shoulders.

He isn't looking at her directly, and she _knows_ he isn't seeing her. She doesn't mind. She's not seeing him, either. Not right now, not completely. She's too busy hitching her ankles around his thighs, sneaking a hand between them to squeeze her breasts, and _fuck_, if he could just keep doing _that_, just a little longer, just a little--

Faith throws her head back as she comes, clutches his arms as strongly as he's gripping her thighs, and even before she's caught her breath, he's turning, dropping to his knees, slamming her onto the floor, plunging inside of her even faster, even harder, and Faith gasps. Digs her heels into the carpet, bucks up against him, and even as he groans, buries his head against her neck, she bows up, digs her fingers into the carpet to anchor herself as she falls over the edge again.

*

 

When she can breathe properly again, Faith coils, stretches under him. Remus stirs, meets her eyes, almost by accident, and they exchange smiles. He falls to his side, reaches out and catches her hair between his fingers, stares at the dark lock.

After a moment, Faith circles his hand with her own, and he trembles. Instead of seeking the look in his eyes, Faith turns to the clock.

"Sunset soon," she says, not quite regretful. "I've got to book."

He rolls, stares in the direction of the closet as she gathers her clothes. "Yes. I have a pressing engagement, as well."

"You sound like a guy I used to know." She snickers a bit, wriggles into her jeans. "You ever go to boarding school?"

He presses his lips together, and she shrugs. "Whatever." Pulls her tank top back on, re-clasps her bra. "Thanks for the, you know."

His voice stops her as she reaches for the doorknob. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Faith."

"You could meet me again." She raises her eyebrows, leers a little.

He rises from the floor, his body casting a lean shadow on the carpet. "Perhaps," he murmurs, idly running his fingers around his wrist.

Faith shrugs again, but pauses before she exits. "You should," she hesitates. "You should be careful out there. At night." He's strong, but she's not sure if he's _that_ strong, and he's starting to look a little pale. "It can get rough after dark."

"Indeed," Remus says, but he smiles almost politely.

"See you," Faith replies, and she tries to shut the door quietly behind her.

*

 

As she walks back to Tessa's home, Faith watches the full moon in the sky, feels it creep against her skin.

Something howls, faintly. It's a mournful sound, and Faith shivers at it.

Tessa's waiting for her when she arrives, a stake in one hand, a lantern in the other.

Faith smiles, waves at Tessa's parents, watching from the front door.

"Come on," she says, slinging an arm around Tessa's shoulders. "Let's get to work."


End file.
